Touchstone
by Narcissology
Summary: Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape share a history that is as complicated as the men themselves, a powerful bond, forged and tested in the most brutal ways. It's something that no one else could ever understand. (This story is canon-compliant through the end of Book 7 and rated M for a reason. It contains strong language and sexual themes, most M/M in nature. Proceed with caution.)


He was getting too old for this. The damp cold seemed to seep into Lucius Malfoy's bones as he pressed his back against the stone wall behind him, closing his eyes and willing away the gnawing ache in his back and his knees - undoubtedly the result of kneeling on the unyielding stone floor for the hours that it had taken to be absolved of his errors in judgement. A strangled cry rang out from behind the door directly across the corridor, echoing away into the darkness, and Lucius's fingers unconsciously curled, clawing at the wall. Severus's particular act of contrition had, unlike the others', been a private affair between he and the Dark Lord, though there wasn't a soul in the vicinity that wasn't now hearing his penance. While Lucius had much to answer for in the way of what his Master sibilantly referred to as missed opportunities, he had at least answered the call when the mark had burned this evening. And even as his compatriots were masked, Lucius was struck more by the horror of Severus Snape's absence than by the most unlikely renaissance of the leader they'd all assumed dead and gone. Certainly there were excuses to be made for things as frivolous as Muggle-baiting at the World Cup - Severus did, after all, have more to lose in exposure than many - but to fail to heed the call of the mark, even so long, was a grave error in judgment indeed.

As another scream issued from behind the heavy wooden door, he further flattened himself against the cold, damp stone of the corridor's wall; a conscious reaction, but one borne of experience. This place, this home to horrors that had become the stuff of legends, seemed to sap freedom of will. The echo of the ragged cry of pain hung in the wet, cold air like a mist for a moment and then dissipated and there was silence again. Lucius resisted the urge to press his ear against the rough hewn planks of the door – again, experience, even the kind of dormant memory, was an effective teacher. Even with his ear to the door, there would be nothing to hear except the murmur of the Dark Lord's voice, smooth and low and occasionally punctuated by a hiss that sent shudders through even the snake.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Lucius winced silently. He definitely wasn't as young as he needed to be for this type of thing. None of them were. But they were bound nonetheless, by the burning of the brand upon their skin. It had been thirteen years since he'd last felt the burn of his mark, and despite the quiet rumors, despite the insistence of those who claimed to know the minds of the most powerful, the sudden searing pain was unexpected. What had followed had been even more disturbing, and after the Dark Lord had finished with the Potter brat, they had all taken their turn at paying for the impertinence of those who did not heed. Lucius's own quick-thinking prostrations had earned him something of a reprieve – that, of course, and his ability to produce, on command, evidence of his continued work for the cause. It seemed to matter little, at least to the Dark Lord, that such work also served Lucius's purposes as it afforded him comfortable positions and kept his lovely bride in furs. Those whose work had been less tangible were not as fortunate, and now, at this late hour, Lucius waited for the last of them, willing his mind to close out the occasional shriek of agony.

Lucius gripped his wand tighter as another howl rent the air and for a moment he allowed his mind to wander to the comfort of his finely appointed library, where his loyal wife waited for him, to his son sleeping, oblivious, in his bed in his dormitory at Hogwarts, before he pushed those thoughts roughly away. All were things he could lose if he didn't keep his senses about him.

The door burst open, iron-bound wood clattering against stone, and threw a wedge of muddy light into the corridor, just enough to illuminate Severus's pale, gaunt face as he staggered from the chamber and sagged heavily against the opposite wall as if his legs were still deciding whether or not they were going to support him. Before the door swung shut and gave back the darkness to which Lucius's eyes had grown accustomed, he was able to make out a bit of the physical damage – a ribbon of blood that trailed from the hooked nose to the torn collar of the black robes, and what appeared to be a gash that opened from below the right eye to just next to the same ear. Painful, but not the disfigurement that some of the others had suffered. The irony of his gratitude did not escape him, but he didn't dwell upon it for more than a moment before crossing the few steps to him, first slipping an arm around Severus's waist to steady his old friend and then staying Severus's right hand with his own as even in pain, Severus stiffened and reached for his wand to ward off the unknown presence.

"Steady," Lucius whispered, and Severus sagged back against him in recognition.

"Lucius," he panted, his chest heaving with a continued effort to draw air, "you shouldn't be here. If he finds you…"

"Neither should you," Lucius murmured quietly, cutting across him. "Can you apparate?"

"I doubt it," Severus answered him thickly, still wheezing.

"I'll need you to hold on, then," Lucius whispered, sparing a furtive glance at the closed door. Severus took his right hand from his wand pocket and gripped the hand on his waist weakly. Lucius closed his eyes and hoped it would be enough in the second before the two of them disappeared with a muffled popping sound.

The heavy tapestries that hung from floor to vaulted ceiling further muffled the sound of their apparition into the library of the Malfoy Manor, where a fire crackling in the fireplace offered the room's only light. Narcissa looked up from her ledgers, a quill in her hand but her eyes a bit too wild, hair a bit too dishevelled to convince Lucius that she had been focusing her attention on the finances, especially in the dim light. Her eyes travelled over Lucius from head to toe, taking inventory of him, before shifting her gaze to Severus, who sagged weakly against Lucius's arm, still bleeding from the wound on his face. She pushed her chair back from the heavy desk and stood carefully, as though if she weren't supporting her weight with her grip on the dark wood, she might not quite be able to manage.

"Is it..." she whispered, her voice trailing off in anticipation of the answer.

Lucius nodded impatiently in answer. "Yes, the good and the bad. Your assistance?" he added, shifting Severus's weight on his arm.

Grey submission to impossible reality fell across her face. She seemed reluctant to let go of the support provided by the desk but after a moment she crossed the few steps to the two of them and helped Lucius to lower Severus carefully in one of the overstuffed chairs that faced the fireplace, where his head sagged against the low, plush back in sheer exhaustion. Then she turned to Lucius, her eyes searching his face for something he was afraid he couldn't offer her at the moment.

"Was it..." she began to ask, trailing off as her eyes brimmed with tears in an uncharacteristic show of emotion that embarrassed both of them.

He reached out his hand to her, fingers stroking her cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Shhhhh, my jewel, please. Don't worry yourself with this. I'm sure it's nothing that will last any longer than the last time, and I'll keep you from the worst of it. Calm yourself and fetch Severus some tea, if you would." And even as he heard the words spill from his mouth, he couldn't bring himself to believe them.


End file.
